


Totally Worth It

by PyroKlepto



Category: Galavant (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Richard also hates it when Gareth is missing for longer than a few hours, Richard has no idea what to think of a healer who actually seems to genuinely care, Richard/Gareth - Freeform, or it could be if you look at it that way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:24:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PyroKlepto/pseuds/PyroKlepto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Gareth is grumpier than usual and Richard metaphorically morphs into a fussy mother hen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Totally Worth It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MuiromeM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuiromeM/gifts), [Grigiocuore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grigiocuore/gifts).



> This is both a story I've wanted to write for a few weeks and also a peace offering to apologise for the angst I brought upon my friends Grig and Muiro with my last Galavant fic. Fluff was needed, so fluff I wrote. 
> 
> Also, endings are not my strong point. Judge not.

Richard leaned back in his throne, tapping his fingers in a random melody on his leg with one hand and holding a bunch of grapes in the other. He was extremely bored. The jester’s jokes made no sense sometimes and this was one of those times. And, having nowhere else to go, Richard found himself more than a little restless and irritable. 

The doors to the throne room opened, the sound echoing off the walls. Richard looked in that direction and saw Gareth walk in. “Ah! Gareth!” 

Gareth glanced up from the leather gloves he was taking off. “Sire.” His voice sounded a bit more gravelly than normal. 

Richard tossed the grapes he held onto the platter resting next to the throne and stood up with a grin, crossing the room to stand in front of his friend. “I’ve been waiting for you. Let’s go for a ride in the woods.” 

The other man looked as though he were about to protest, but then shrugged slightly, drawing a hand across his face. “Right, then.” He fumbled with his gloves, slipping them back on. “Let’s go.” 

Richard clapped his hands gleefully and hurried out the door. He ran back a moment later. “Oh right, yes, you’re all dismissed,” he told the servants in the throne room. Then he left again, Gareth trailing along behind more slowly.

 

The ride was more or less uneventful. And the definition of ‘uneventful’ meant that Richard didn’t fall off his horse, accidentally hit his head on a tree branch, or get off his horse to follow a squirrel and end up getting lost.

As Richard rode along, he chattered away to Gareth about anything and everything - he went from discussing a dream he had the night before to wondering aloud whether stars had a secret language they used to converse with each other.

Eventually, he realised that Gareth hadn’t said a single word in response. Frowning, Richard looked over his shoulder, wondering if he had gotten lost and left Gareth behind.

No, Gareth was still there atop his grey horse, head lowered as though he were half-asleep. Richard’s nose wrinkled and he asked, “Are you even listening to me?”

“Mmh?” Gareth lifted his head, blinking and narrowing his eyes against the sunlight. “Yeah. No. Stars don’t talk, ‘course they don’t have a language.”

“Well, they don’t talk to us, no,” Richard retorted. “But I bet they talk to each other.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Gareth replied, his voice not much more than a mumble. 

Richard shot him a slightly offended look, but didn’t press him to talk anymore. Gareth was often a quiet sort of fellow and if he didn’t want to hold a conversation, he wouldn’t. It bothered Richard immensely, especially when he wanted to talk.

Of course, no one was keeping him from talking, so he continued to chatter on. Gareth would grunt every now and then so Richard knew he was paying attention, or at least pretending to. Later, after going back home, Richard stayed in the stables to spend time with the horses. Gareth opted to go back inside the castle.

Richard didn’t see him again that day; a strange occurrence. 

 

“You there!”

Richard waved down a servant, who froze in place and stared at him. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Where is Gareth?” Richard asked. “I haven’t seen him since I returned from our ride yesterday. It’s nearly noon.”

“I don’t know, Your Majesty,” the servant said, shifting from one foot to the other. “I have not seen him.”

“Hmm.” Richard scowled, thinking. Realising the servant still stood there,he motioned toward the door. “Go on, you’re dismissed.” 

The man scurried away, and Richard left the throne room. It wasn’t like anyone was there expecting him to give orders or settle some sort of legal dispute. If Gareth wasn’t around, he would go find him (mainly because he was bored again). Perhaps he was still asleep; he was always waking up ridiculously early, maybe he had finally decided to stop that crazy habit.

But no, Richard didn’t find Gareth in his room. He never even reached his room - halfway up the steps that led their, Richard tripped over something and toppled to the floor. His crown fell and clattered down a few steps, and his elbow collided with the corner he had been approaching. He started to curse - and then saw what had tripped him.

Gareth was lying there, a few steps from the top, slumped against the wall. His chest rose and fell steadily, but his breathing sounded just a bit raspy. His face was much paler than usual.

“Gare?” Richard reached out to shake his friend. He received no response and, brow furrowing, gingerly touched Gareth’s forehead. It was nearly hot enough to burn. “Oh, good Lord,” Richard said under his breath, voice tinged with mild horror. His friend had a terrible fever. 

Richard attempted to rouse Gareth and, when that didn’t work, tried to drag him to his feet and back to his room. He couldn’t manage that either - Gareth was a strong man (and Richard was not), and the fact that he was complete deadweight at the moment did not make him any easier to carry. 

So Richard very gently lowered Gareth back down again and hurried down the stairs as quickly as he could without tumbling down them. He saw a few guards in the corridor. “You there! Stop!”

They turned around and Richard said, “Gareth is unconscious on the stairs and I can’t wake him. Get him to his room and fetch a healer immediately.” 

The guards nodded in near unison. Three of them headed for the stairs while the fourth made his way down the corridor in the direction of the healing room. Richard, of course, also went back to the stairs. 

He remained one step behind the guards at all times, refusing to stop hovering over them until they had deposited Gareth onto his bed. At that point, Richard dragged a chair from against the wall and placed it next to the bed, sitting down on it. He gave the guards permission to leave and waited for the healer, tapping his foot impatiently. Every so often, he’d glance at Gareth to see if he had awakened yet.

The healer arrived after what had seemed like hours but had only been a few minutes. She told him to leave, and he emphatically refused. So she ignored the fact he was there and proceeded to try and pinpoint exactly what was wrong.

Richard was about to burst from anxiety when she finally turned to him and told him that there was nothing serious to worry about - Gareth had an illness, but it wasn’t life-threatening. There would continue to be a fever, and he might end up with a cough, but he would make it through so long as medicine was administered to him daily.

“I can do that,” Richard offered. “Just leave it here.”

The healer gave him a look. “Your Majesty, I will come up with the medicine each day myself, it is no trouble.”

Richard pursed his lips, about to protest. Then, deciding that perhaps he could trust her, nodded. “Very well.”

She waited a moment, watching Richard in case he said anything more. When he didn’t, she exited the room. Richard turned around and returned to sitting in the chair beside Gareth’s bed. He tried to stay awake - he wanted to be completely present when Gareth woke up - but he slowly started to drift off.

When he woke up a few hours later, he saw Gareth sitting on the edge of the bed, about to stand up. Without entirely thinking it through, Richard lunged forward and caught Gareth in a bear hug, pulling him back onto the bed. 

“Oi, what in bloody--” Gareth started. He lapsed into a coughing fit before he could complete his sentence. 

Richard pushed him down, and then perched on the side of the bed like a lanky bird. “You need rest, Gare.”

Gareth made a low growling noise in the back of his throat. “Don’t. I’m fine.” He tried to get up again, only to have Richard press his hands against his chest and pin him down.

“You’re not getting up until you’re not ill anymore,” Richard said. 

Gareth scowled and tried to swat Richard’s hands away, but the tables had turned - now he was weaker than Richard, and not the other way around. 

“As your king, I command you to rest,” Richard said, making his voice as level and authoritative as possible.

Gareth grumbled incoherently, but finally stopped trying to get up, lying down on his back and staring up at the ceiling. When he quieted down, his breath could be heard rattling in his throat. He grimaced and reached for the pitcher of water on the bedside table.

Richard beat him to it, taking the pitcher and pouring a glass of water. Gareth fixed him with a stony look, taking the glass. “I’m not an infant, y’know.”

“I know,” Richard replied. He sat back down in his chair. 

“Get outta here them,” Gareth said. “Last thing we need is you getting yourself sick.”

“I’m not leaving,” Richard said. 

“I can take care of myself,” Gareth insisted. 

Richard took in the pale face, the raspy voice, the trembling in Gareth’s hands, and responded, “I’m not leaving.”

Gareth let his head fall back onto his pillow and groaned.

 

“Is anyone even down here, or is it some holiday I never gave you permission to celebrate?” Richard demanded, sweeping into the kitchen and scanning the room for someone. 

It was empty except for a lone man standing at the other end of the room, looking nervous. Richard fixed him with a look. “You. Where is everyone?”

“I’m not sure, sire,” the man replied. 

Richard made an irritated noise. “If I wasn’t in a hurry, there would be a price to pay for this absence.” He looked around. “Where’s the soup? I asked for it an hour ago.” 

“It’s not done yet, my king,” the servant said. “It should be ready within ten minutes.” He gestured toward a pot that was boiling. “It’s there.”

Richard went to survey the soup, which looked good enough. “It looks done to me.”

“It-it’s not.” The servant walked over and started stirring the soup. “The vegetables haven’t quite softened enough. I promise you it will be ready shortly.”

Richard grumbled, but nodded and took a few steps back to allow the servant to work. He didn’t leave the kitchen, however. 

“You can leave if you like, sire. I’ll bring the soup up to your guard’s room when it’s ready,” the servant said hesitantly.

“No, I’m quite fine waiting,” Richard said.

And he did. When the soup was finished and some of it had been ladled into a bowl, he immediately took the tray it was on. 

The servant looked immensely nervous - possibly because Richard had a penchant for going through clumsy spells - but dared not say anything. Richard flashed him a smile, then left the kitchen and made his way back to Gareth’s room.

Gareth was lying on his side in bed, awake but not active. He had stopped trying to escape bedrest a few days ago when he realised Richard refused to let him do so. He rolled over onto his back when Richard walked in, and then sighed. “You can’t be serious.” He raised a hand to his mouth, coughing. 

“Soup’s good for you,” Richard pointed out, taking his seat next to the bed and very carefully balancing the tray of soup - which he hadn’t spilled a single drop of, much to his pride - on Gareth’s lap. 

“You need to stop treating me like a child,” Gareth said dourly, picking up the spoon. 

“I’m not, I’m treating you like someone who’s sick, because you are.” Richard leaned back in his chair. “Do you remember when I was ill last year, and you took care of me because you said you didn’t trust the servants to do it right? Well, I’m doing the same thing.”

“I can take care of meself,” Gareth grumbled, sullenly taking a sip of his meal. 

“So can I,” Richard pointed out. “But you still took care of me.” 

Gareth looked sideways at Richard, and seemed about to say something - but instead shook his head slightly and kept eating. Richard watched him for a minute before getting distracted by the book on the bedside table. It was a collection of fairy tales - his own book, for his own amusement. Gareth didn’t like fairy tales and spent most of his time pointing out the inaccuracies or unbelievable aspects of them. (Richard often read them aloud to him anyway, because it was an activity to do, and besides, he wasn’t all too sure that Gareth hated them as much as he claimed he did.)

“Don’t you dare read another one of those ridiculous fables out loud.” 

“Oh, you know you love them.”

“I really don’t. If you start reading, I’m gonna pour this soup all over that damned book.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Richard said brightly. But he continued to read silently - just in case. 

 

Richard had left Gareth’s room for a brief walk - as much as he wanted to make sure his friend felt as comfortable as possible, Richard could not bear being cooped up for too long. As he wandered the halls, servants and guards would shoot him looks that did not go unnoticed, but never speak to him. 

He was mildly peeved that no one asked to find out how Gareth was doing, but had learned to accept the fact that most of them didn’t approach him in a casual setting anyway and therefore wouldn’t say much of anything unless ordered to.

The healer who had been assigned the task of making sure Gareth got his medicine passed by Richard in the corridor and did ask, however. “How’s he faring, sire?” 

She even sounded friendly. “Well enough,” Richard replied. “He doesn’t sound like he’s trying to cough his lungs up anymore, at least.” 

“Good. He should be right as rain soon,” the healer said, smiling. 

Richard, mildly baffled, wondered if he should ask her why she was smiling. Perhaps she really did hope Gareth would get better. Which was odd. After a moment of staring blankly, he nodded. “Yes. Good. I should go make sure he ate his supper now.” He started to walk toward the staircase, then paused and glanced back. “Thank you, by the way.”

She continued smiling, and it looked genuine. Another confusing happenstance. “You’re welcome.”

Richard stood there a moment, then turned and continued walking up the staircase. When he entered Gareth’s room, he saw the man tossing and turning in bed, grumbling curses to himself. “Gare, what’s wrong?”

Gareth scowled at him. “Nothing.” 

“Can’t you sleep?” Richard asked, crossing the room and glancing at the bowl on the bedside table to make sure it was empty. It was. 

“I’m trying,” Gareth retorted. “Might be easier if you’d just leave me in peace for longer than an hour.” 

“Nonsense.” Richard moved a bit closer. “Maybe a lullaby will help. Do you remember the lullaby Pearl used to sing us?”

“No. Don’t,” Gareth said, but Richard ignored him and started singing anyway.

“Lay by my side, and we'll sail away.  
Off to the shores of another day.  
All set to go once I hear you say:  
Goodnight, my friend, until the morning…

Up we will float as we close our eyes,  
Stars all around us like fireflies;  
Just me and you drifting through the skies;  
Goodnight, my friend… 

Not a thought,  
Not a care,  
Resting safe and sound  
With each other there… 

And so we'll rock on a nighttime ride,  
Cozy and warm on the rolling tide  
‘Til we arrive on the morning side;  
Our journey's end. 

Goodnight,  
Sleep tight,  
We're going to be all right.  
Goodnight, my friend…”

When Richard finally stopped singing and came back to reality - singing always took him to another place, not quite in the real world - he looked down at Gareth. The other man’s eyes were shut, and his breathing had leveled out. It was still raspy, but noticeably better than it had been days earlier.

Richard watched him quietly for a long moment. Then, convinced that Gareth would remain asleep, Richard got out of his chair and curled up in the nest of blankets he had built on the floor beside the bed. He picked up his book of fairy tales and started to read it again.

 

He awoke sometime during the night, and wondered why. He rarely woke up unless he had had a nightmare - and he hadn’t. Confused, he yawned and sat up, one of the blankets from his nest wrapped around his shoulders. 

Looking up over the edge of the bed, he noticed that Gareth was tossing and turning again, still asleep and shivering. His blankets had been thrown off the bed, he was sleeping so restlessly. Richard frowned, then walked in a circle around the bed, retrieving the blankets and carefully draping them over his friend again.

Gareth mumbled something in his sleep, rolling over onto his side and burrowing deeper under the blankets. Richard reached out and touched his forehead; he had a fever again, and there wasn’t really much else to do about it that hadn’t already been done.

Richard stood there quietly beside the bed for a moment before taking his blankets from the floor and placing them on top of Gareth as well. Then he carefully got onto the bed, being sure not to get too close - if Gareth woke up with Richard’s arm around him or anything of the sort, he might decide to commit murder. But the extra body heat might help to keep him from being too cold. 

Richard stayed on top of the blankets rather than underneath them; he would burn alive if he tried to sleep underneath the entire pile of them in addition to being near Gareth, whose fever more or less turned him into a bedwarmer - he radiated heat, even though he was clearly feeling cold. 

It wasn’t long before Richard drifted off to sleep, comfortable and warm. 

And sure enough, he awoke to Gareth telling him off. “Are you mad? Do you really want to get sick too?” 

Richard yawned, rolling over in bed to look up at Gareth, who was sitting up and scowling. “You were cold.” 

“The blankets would have sufficed,” Gareth snapped. “The last thing we need is you coming down with a bloody fever.” 

“I feel fine,” Richard said drowsily, stretching so that his legs looked longer than usual. “And you seem to be feeling better too.” He tilted his head and looked at Gareth sideways.

“If you must know, yeah, I do,” Gareth retorted. 

Richard sat up and reached out, placing his hand against Gareth’s forehead. Gareth scowled at him, but didn’t move away until Richard did. “Not a smidge of temperature. You really are feeling better, Gare-bear!” Richard grinned. 

“Yeah, now next thing we know it’s gonna be you trapped in bed with a fever,” Gareth said. “And don’t call me that.”

“Oh, hush, I feel fine.” Richard climbed out of bed and moved the chair back to the corner of the room it had come from. “I’m glad you’re better.” He approached Gareth and threw his arms around him in a hug.

Gareth stood still for about two seconds, then grunted and pushed Richard away. “Yeah, me too. I can finally get out of here.” He walked to the door and exited. Then he returned a moment later and looked at Richard with an unreadable expression. “Thanks, by the way.” He left again without any explanation. 

Richard, of course, knew exactly what he meant and chased after him. “You’re welcome! I knew you didn’t really mind!” 

“Oh, I did. I hate being fussed over; not worth the trouble,” Gareth replied without stopping. “But you did waste a week of your life cooped up in a room with my sorry hide.” 

“Totally worth it.” Richard sped his pace until he had skipped alongside Gareth. 

Gareth scoffed. “Sure it was.” 

“You’re better, so it was,” Richard all but chirped, slinging his arm around Gareth’s shoulders. 

Gareth tried halfheartedly to shrug Richard’s arm off but didn’t succeed, so he gave up. “Whatever you say, my king.” 

“C’mon. What do you want to do? Let’s do something. You’ve been stuck in bed for so long, you probably have a lot of energy,” Richard suggested brightly.

“You mean you do.”

“We both do,” Richard amended. “So, what do you want to do?”

Gareth glanced sideways at Richard. “Nothing in particular. You decide.” 

Richard paused for quite some time, thinking. Then he exclaimed, “Why don’t we go for another ride, Gare? You didn’t have much fun during the last one, being sick and all.” 

“Sure,” Gareth said. 

Richard grinned again. “Wonderful!” 

Gareth stole another sideways glance, a brief, slightly-amused smile crossing his own face before vanishing. “Yeah.”

Richard tightened his arm around Gareth’s shoulders in a sort of one-armed hug. “Let’s go, then!” 

Gareth made a slightly irritated noise at being squeezed against Richard’s side in a hug; but he didn’t try to fight it and instead opted to return the one-armed embrace - briefly and awkwardly, of course, but he did.


End file.
